


Contempt and Culpability

by elsalapizza (lamerezouille)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, SPN Regency Big Bang 2020, Stable Hand Dean Winchester, art by verbatto-angelxhunter, mentions of war events, noble Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamerezouille/pseuds/elsalapizza
Summary: Dean never thought that his life would amount to much. After all, he was used to lords looking down on him just because he was not born in the right level of society.He was nothing but a groom at a Viscount's estate. Reading letters from his brother, gossiping with the other servants and taking care of the horses was all that really made his life worth living.And then one day a lord lodging on the estate for the season--a stranger--barged into his stables and his life, acting just like Dean was worth just as much as he was.A story about love, shame and challenging one's position in life.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 110
Collections: SPN Regency Big Bang 2020





	Contempt and Culpability

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPN Regency Big Bang](https://spnregencybb.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Thanks so much for the mods for organizing this fun event, and most of all, thanks to Vero for the amazing art! You can find the masterpost [here](https://verobatto-angelxhunter.tumblr.com/post/628808839187365888/hi-another-artwork-i-made-for-spnregencybb), go give it some love! ♥

The noise itself wasn’t what woke Dean up; but rather the shift in the atmosphere caused by the foreignness of the sound. It hadn’t been the wind nor the visit of a daring rodent, and Dean rose at once. Despite the abruptness of his waking, he was alert enough to have the presence of mind to hide, and not to barge in and risk spooking the horses even more. There was also a part of his mind that was too curious as to the nature of the intrusion to chance not witnessing it.

From where Dean stood, draped in the shadow of the harness room, he could see, just as he had suspected, barely lit by the rising sun, the silhouette of a man. The lack of light made him unsure, but Dean didn’t reckon he’d ever seen him before. All he could say about the stranger’s appearance was that he was tall, and seemed to be smartly clothed, his boots heavy when they trod on the hay strewn on the stables ground. Not a vagabond or a drifter then, although Dean was in a good position to know that the quality of one’s clothes did not make one an honest man.

It was however soon clear to Dean that this man was no horse thief, as he had stopped his advance a few feet from the stalls, and didn’t seem inclined to approach the beasts any closer. His stillness had calmed the horses too, and they had stopped their snorting, some of them seemingly ready to go back to sleep. Only Impala, who was the one Dean could see the best from his vantage point, still had her eyes open, her intelligent stare not leaving the interloper.

As seconds stretched into minutes, no movement was made nor sound produced, neither by the animals nor the men present in the stables. Dean was starting to wonder whether this mysterious man was in fact nothing but a scarecrow displaced by the wind, when finally he moved. But instead of revealing the reason of his presence here, he contented himself with turning around and walking back from where he came, the slight mist of an early aurora swallowing him before Dean had the presence of mind to leave his hiding spot to see in which direction he had left.

Dean had just the time to check on the horses to make completely sure that nothing had happened to them, before the rooster cried, announcing the beginning of the day and of his duties.

~

He got to work just like he did every day, and was saved from thinking back on this morning’s stranger by an afflux of new horses to care about, as various of the Viscount’s guests arrived during the day, ready to celebrate the end of the season as Dean had learned rich folk were wont to do at this time of year.

It was as he was unsaddling a beautiful brown mare whose carer had the horrid idea of decking out with pink silky ribbons that were very obviously bothering her deeply, given the snorting and foot-stomping she was engaged in, that the thought only occurred to him fleetingly: the stranger might actually be one of the Viscount’s many visitors.

Dean hadn’t the faintest idea why one of these fancy lords would slum it down in the stables before dawn, but if this was indeed the identity of this mysterious man, Dean was at least grateful that he had not come in and grabbed at the horses as if he had owned the place.

This was not Dean’s first place of employment, and in his experience, none of the peers and various gentlemen who visited the stables he worked in cared much whom they disturbed, be it the horses or the grooms. Their only interests usually were the outcome of their hunting or the way the cloth of their pantaloons would fold on the saddle.

Since he had taken his position at the Viscount’s estate, Dean had been lucky that there had not been any of these kinds of visitors in the stables. Truly, besides the other servants, he had yet to see any of the inhabitants of the estate. Bobby, as the master coachman, was usually the only one to travel to the house when a carriage was needed, and no one ever seemed interested neither in a leisurely ride nor on assembling a hunting party.

This was no doubt due to the fact that, if the gossips Dean sometimes heard from the housemaids were to be believed, the Viscount did not actually live on the estate. The turnover among the lower servants was sufficiently high, and the upper servants were sufficiently tight-lipped that there was no way to really know it for sure. The subject was nonetheless taboo enough that Dean had no doubt of its truthfulness.

However, where the Viscount was and why he seemed not to be fulfilling his duties did not matter to Dean at all. What mattered was that his wages were paid and that apparently none of the Ladies of the house were interested in the horses they owned, which left Dean as free as a man in his position could be.

Although, if more of their guests were to do unprompted visits to the stables at every hour of the day and night, things would definitely be changing for Dean, and he did not know how he would handle it. For the commonality of all of his previous places of employment—and the reason he had been forced to find a new one each time—was that Dean did not _harmonise_ very well with the wealthy landowners that comprised his potential employers.

Dean simply was unable to behave correctly with anyone above the rank of a butler—and even with Mr Ketch, he always felt wrong-footed the handful of times they had had to interact. The man was not much older than him but very much above his rank, and his smirk had a knack for making him nervous. Dean did not like him at all.

Actual lords and ladies were even worse. Dean never knew what title to call them, had never learned either to bow or to scrape and his blood simply ran too hot for him to keep his calm any time they were too pompous, be it towards their horses, Dean himself, or anyone below their station. Unfortunately, in Dean’s experience, rich people being pompous was hardly avoidable, and them terminating his employment often followed suit.

Dean had only to hope that none of the guests of the Family would discover in themselves a passion for horses during their sojourn here, and that the stranger from that morning would not be coming back. Or if he did, that Dean would succeed in avoiding any conversation, as he had today. If he had to hide in the harness room once more, he would not hesitate to do so.

Unfortunately for him, the problem in his infallible plan came to Dean’s attention very shortly after its devising.

Indeed, hiding in the shadows during the night had proved itself to be easier than hiding during the day whilst Dean had work to do. Contrary to when Dean had been sleeping during a quiet pre-dawn morning, sorting out the horses’ muck in late afternoon, with the horses clacking their hooves and whinnying at his nearness, was no position to notice or even hear anyone approaching who didn’t want to be heard.

So it was that, just as Dean was about to reach behind him for the pail where the best brushes were kept, the presence of someone in the corner of his eye startled him just enough to miss the pail and almost lose his footing.

He turned around the same way he would have had it been a spooked animal, and felt an instant recognition. The last rays of sun before it began to set brought colours that had not been there preceding daybreak; the shadowed figure had been metamorphosed into a man made of flesh and bone. But as different as these two experiences were, there was a thickness in the atmosphere that made those moments twins.

If Dean could have mistaken this man for a scarecrow in the morn, his shape had now been elevated to that of a marble statue. Not in colour, as his skin was tanner than any aristocrat Dean had ever seen and his clothes had the deep, sombre shades only the finest tailors could achieve. It was the smoothed lines and planes of his form—face, limbs and torso alike—that likened him to sculptures Dean had only ever seen in the most lavish of churches.

These thoughts came unbidden to Dean, and he was taken aback that they had not only grazed his mind but taken such roots. He did not remember ever considering a man the way he was doing now, and least of all one so above his station, and whom he did not know at all.

He had noticed in the past the strength in Benny’s arms, or how engaging Ash's smiles were when they illuminated his face in just the right way. And despite how much he disliked him, Dean had always wished there was any way for himself to look as dapper Mr Ketch did in the suit he used for the grander occasions.

And yet...it had never been quite like how the appearance of this stranger struck him so completely.

Dean tried to get his bearings back as well as he could, and not to stare more than what was appropriate. Although, if the man did not do or say anything, Dean could not be trusted not to make a fool out of himself.

He had a history of not being able to behave correctly in the presence of Lords and Ladies.

The stranger was looking at him now, and from the few feet that separated them, Dean saw the blue of his eyes. It only unsettled him more. The man was still quiet, but as Dean decided to reach for his pail—for a lack of better things to do, and certainly not because keeping his watch on the man made him feel dizzy—his eyes followed even Dean’s most simple gesture.

Dean took hold of the brush he needed to finish his work with Chevelle’s mane, but something stopped him from turning back toward the horses.

However, he did not have time to make up his mind, as he was abruptly interrupted by the sound of great thunder, quickly followed by alarmed neighs and whinnies. They both startled, the stranger thankfully showing sign that he was not a fruit of Dean’s imagination.

Dean idly wondered how he had not noticed the darkening of the sky. It must have happened rather suddenly. He did not have the time to investigate the stormy clouds, or even to take his eyes off the stranger, before a bolt of lightning illuminated the man from behind. It momentarily gave him the appearance of an avenging angel, little strands of his hair standing on end, his blue gaze only made more piercing.

The abrupt brightness made Dean need to blink. There were black spots in front of his eyelids, and by the time his vision was clear again, the stranger had disappeared, gone the way he must have come from.

In their stalls, the horses were about to enter a tangible panic. Ranchero was particularly shaky when it came to tempests and Dean needed to separate him from the others before any damage came either to the beasts or to the stables.

Dean did not have the time to dwell on anything that had happened before that.

~

It rained all night.

The storm had made the horses restless and each time their brittleness woke Dean up, he could hear the torrents of water hitting the roof of the stables relentlessly.

Instead of the lightning it was the image of the stranger that flashed inside of his mind in between bouts of restless sleep; instead of thunder it was Dean’s heartbeat that resonated inside his head.

At one point, Dean even got up and padded all the way to the stalls, certain he would find the stranger at his usual place, eyes fixed on the horses and drenched in rain.

But there was no one standing there, and Dean did not have to fetch one of his canvas blankets to protect this man from the cold and try to dry him out. It was better this way. Dean needed his rest more than he needed taking care of some noble who would have doubtlessly shown no gratitude whatsoever. Lords and ladies already had too many servants at their beck and call, and the horses were all that mattered to Dean.

There was no need for Dean to care at all.

The sun rose on a lush landscape. The only traces left of the bad weather were the verdant pastures and quenched gardens. The horses had altogether settled down and even the mud created during the night was now dry enough to crackle under Dean’s feet.

Unsure whether the preceding night had even been real at all, Dean went to the servants’ quarters hoping for a hearty breakfast that could appease his mind more than his agitated sleep had.

Dean felt at once too weary to take part in any of the conversations occurring around the table, yet unable to ignore the babble as the gossip seemed much more profuse than usual. Given how many new people were lodging on the estate—and based on the number of horses Dean had seen come his way, it was a lot—it seemed only natural that all these new lords and ladies would bring with them a series of assorted sentiments, admiring and disparaging alike.

There was one subject that was very much agreed upon, however.

“Yes, Tessa has told me it was so,” Alicia was informing Charlie, beside whom Dean was seating. “One of these visitors might very soon be marrying our Lady Anna!”

The prospect of an upcoming wedding seemed to make the whole table titter. Even Jo, who Dean had always thought entirely uninterested by such prospect looked enchanted by the idea.

The only other thought to occur in Dean’s mind, on the other hand, was of the stranger on the arm of the Lady. It was unexpected and felt very wrong.

“It’s been so long since there were so many handsome gentlemen on the estate!” Jo exclaimed from Dean’s other side, much too brightly for his eardrums. “I wonder who she will pick!”

“I am quite certain the Viscountess will lead her to a most appropriate choice,” Ellen cut in as she slid an arm in between Dean and Charlie, putting down a jug of milk on the table. “Now eat up and get going. The Ladies don’t need you to gossip, but to do the work they pay you for.”

This seemed to chasten the girls around Dean the way it was intended. Although, as Ellen had her back turned on them again, Charlie leaned in towards Dean, and with this mischievous air of hers, whispered, “I’ve heard that the Ladies are not merely the Ladies any more. None of the servants can tell for sure, but Dorothy has heard that the Viscount himself is back.”

Dean could not help a laugh from escaping his lips at this piece of news. Ellen sent a dark look his way but didn’t say anything.

Alicia and Charlie were both looking at him askance, apparently not understanding his reaction. Yet, Dean was sharing neither their excitement nor their solemnity on the matter.

“You cannot be serious!” he said as quietly as he could, so as not to incur Ellen’s wrath on him. “No one can even say for sure whether he’s been absent or not at all! Perhaps the Viscount has been hiding in his private chambers for a dozen years, or perhaps Dorothy has simply confused him with one of the visiting lords.”

As adamant as Dean was, the girls did not seem convinced. They were exchanging knowing looks, as if Dean was wilfully ignorant on the subject.

They may not have been entirely wrong, as Dean had actively tried to avoid the Lords and Ladies of the estate ever since he had arrived here. Nevertheless, in his experience, trusting in facts based on hearsay instead of truth had never amounted to any good.

“And what about his family then? Would the Viscount’s wife and daughter always be by themselves if he were simply hiding in his chambers all year long?” Madison sounded almost offended that Dean could fathom such a fact to be the truth. He did not know what the circumstances of her own growing up had been, but Dean knew from experience that men’s actions could be driven by many other things than their duties to their family.

Wherever the Viscount was and whatever he was doing, Dean would wager that his wife and daughter’s well-being was naught but a passing thought in his mind.

“It is none of our concern at any rate,” he concluded, hoping to put an end to this conversation. The subject of the Viscount was not one to broach lightly, and Dean had seen too many servants being reprimanded—sometimes harshly—for their indiscreet speculations.

Charlie sent him a look that very plainly signified how not fun he was.

Dean chose to ignore it. He did not know why he had gotten so rattled and decided not to reflect upon it too much.

The image of the Lady Anna on the stranger’s arm came back to him, unbidden. But it had nothing to do with his temper. Nothing at all.

~

Dean met some of these lords that morning, but found them significantly less handsome than advertised.

Indeed, Dean thought that these three men for whose forenoon ride he had to saddle horses were far from charming. It was only a handful of times that had seen the Lady Anna from afar as she walking in her small garden, but had found her to be quite lovely. Looking at these lords closely, Dean was quite sure that they could not dream to be of any interest to her.

The first one was short and slightly portly with a perpetual smirk that Dean did not like at all. The second one might be more handsome, but the sheer nonchalance he emanated got on Dean’s nerves at once. Worse than that, the thoughtless way he handled his horse bothered Dean profoundly. It felt more than just worry for the beast. The third one was maybe even more incensing than the other two as disdain and contempt seemed to be the only emotions he was capable of.

Dean had always been biased against noble people, yet never had he hated one so fast and so thoroughly. His behaviour reminded Dean of all the employers who had ever sacked him and all of the gentlemen who had ever looked down their nose at him.

It made a fierce anger simmer deep down inside Dean. The only thought that his irate mind could sustain was that of this lord’s fully bald head getting trampled by one of the horses’ hooves. It reminded him how the fact that he possessed nothing meant that he had no worth; and this by no fault of his own. It reminded him that no matter how good and true he could ever try to be, he would always be beneath the likes of these men, no matter how shrewdly they behaved.

Dean had to grit his teeth to manage to saddle the three horses without letting his distaste and his shame express themselves. It may be the lack of sleep or simply that he was no longer used to mind his manners in front of nobles, but it seemed more difficult on this day than it had ever been.

It was only as they left for their leisurely woodland ride that the weight of anger lifted from Dean’s shoulders. He eased back his jaw and went to brush down Impala’s mane, knowing it was one of the duties that soothed him the most.

By lunchtime, Dean felt somewhat calm again, yet anxious that the men’s return would soon sour his mood once more.

He was on his pallet, munching on the pieces of bread and cheese that composed his meal, when a few of the horses started fussing in their stalls. Dreading that the three lords were back already, Dean carefully set aside his food and got up to meet them, before realising he had not in fact heard the clop of their mounts.

But instead of smug smiles and disdainful looks, Dean was greeted once again by a statuesque figure and an indecipherable expression.

The man was stood at the same place he had been the other times, his eyes fixed on the horses, yet honing on Dean as soon as he exited the harness room.

It was either his impatience at not knowing anything about this stranger, or his tongue having been held too long with the other lords—perhaps it was even a blend of both, but Dean could not stay quiet anymore.

“Hello,” he said, and felt foolish as soon as the word had left his lips. Surely he should not have said it like this, with this word and this tone of voice. Surely this lord’s face would soon shift in the scornful expression it was meant to in the presence of someone of Dean’s stature.

Yet instead of that, something in the man’s eyes softened minutely, and his mouth opened enough for him to croak, “Hello,” back at Dean.

He looked momentarily as taken aback as Dean felt, his eyes going wide, the midday sun making his blue eyes shine.

Dean was aware that in all logic it was his own turn to speak, although nothing came to his mouth. His whole mind felt perfectly blank, as if he had forgotten how to form words altogether. His curiosity as to this man’s name and reason for being here felt as strong as ever, yet the lump in his throat surpassed it greatly, rendering him absolutely speechless.

Dean did not know how much time passed while they both stood there, tongue-tied and staring. It was either centuries or mere seconds, and it got abruptly cut short by the distinct and ungraceful noise of three horses trotting straight towards them. The horrid lords were returning, and Dean needed to go back to work. He did not have the time to even think of an excuse to make, for in an instant the stranger was gone, turning tails in the direction of the main house, careful not to be seen by the three men riding in their direction.

It felt to Dean as if something had just been ripped from him, yet he was at a loss to determine what it could be. His footing had been so disturbed by this short encounter that he even forgot to get infuriated by the men’s behaviour, although it had not improved one bit.

He spent the whole afternoon wondering why he was reacting the way he was. He should not feel this way. One nobleman treating him with the smallest amount of decency for the briefest of time should not feel so big—so life-altering. There was no sense in it and yet… He could not help himself to think back on it again and again all through the rest of the day. He thought about the stranger’s appearance, the line of his jaw, the look in his eyes. He thought of the way he had left so quickly, and could not help but be relieved that he seemed to enjoy the three awful lords’ company as little as Dean did.

He could not say why he cared so much, but definitely knew he should not care at all.

Even when Charlie came by with the news of a letter from Sam, Dean did not manage to put the encounter entirely out of his mind.

It did not help him with the reading of Sammy’s chicken scratches at all. Reading was a difficult task for him on the best of days, and not being able to fully concentrate made it almost impossible. The news from Sam were so few and far between though, that he could not bear the thought of delaying his reading even a little.

He feared that he would not be able to rest his mind enough as long as the Viscount’s guests were here, but was reassured by the fact that if need be, Bobby would certainly agree to read the letter to him.

Dean felt his cheeks warm at that simple thought—that he could not communicate with his own little brother without outside help. He was the older brother, he was supposed to show Sammy the way, to be an example for him, yet Sam was only a boy of fourteen and had already surpassed him in more ways than he was able to count.

Dean reminded himself that it was a good thing. Sam being lettered had been Dean’s goal as far as he could remember, and Dean should feel pride about it, not shame. It was thanks to Dean that his little brother was able to receive an education. Dean loved caring for horses, but if his actions were able to give hope for Sammy of a better position, somewhere he would never have to be subjected to the same scorn Dean was, then everything would have been worth it.

Dean’s little brother was a brilliant boy, who deserved none of the arrogant little lords and all of the kindness and respect in the world.

This thought made Dean pause. Perhaps this was what had unsettled him so when the stranger had answered his greeting so easily: the simple fact that a noble would respect him enough to do so, without knowing anything of his value. Most of his masters had only ever cared about what he could do for their horses and never about who he was.

In their brief interaction, this man had seemed like he cared. Dean no longer felt so bad about caring too.

This was why, when he was interrupted from his strenuous reading by a shadow looming over him, he could not muster any annoyance, despite being only halfway through the letter. For when he raised his eyes towards his visitor, it was the stranger yet again standing in front of the stalls.

Dean should not stay seated while a lord was standing up beside him, should he? Once again Dean did not know how to act the way any servant should, yet he felt a lot less anxious about it than he normally would.

Just as he took the decision to stand up, if only to do something at all, the other man took a step forward, bringing them abruptly all but nose to nose.

Dean had his back to Impala’s stall. Any move he made would bring him even closer to the stranger. It took much too long for the man to realise this and to take a step backwards, but not long enough for Dean to mind. From up-close, the stranger’s eyes were the most piercing blue, and Dean could detect in them a kindness he had never witnessed in a man of his rank.

“Hello,” the man said, once he was at a distance that allowed Dean to breathe more discreetly. “I wanted to apologise for my rudeness earlier.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose at the mere idea of a nobleman apologising to _him_ , but the man seemed to misunderstand, as he hurriedly added, “As well as the other times I have been here.”

“I...” Dean began to say, at a loss for words. It was a fact that Dean never knew how to act properly in front of nobles, and he was amazed to discover that apparently this man did not know how to behave in front of _servants_.

“It was completely inappropriate for me to infringe on your time, as I know the amount of work you undoubtedly have each day must make each second quite precious. And I am aware that it is exactly what I am doing at this precise moment, but I felt it necessary for me to properly apologise in any case.”

The man was turning his hat in his hands again and again, his nervousness emboldening Dean at the same time as it made him feel for him quite deeply.

“Oh no, there is no need for you to apologise, uh, Sir, I mean, My Lord,” Dean’s words hurried out of his mouth, tripping each other on their way out. He was realizing as it was happening that he had no idea what the other man’s rank was. “I’m sorry I don’t—”

“I beg you, no need for you to—” Dean was starting to worry for the man’s hat, which was progressively losing its elegant form. “Please call me Castiel,” he suddenly blurted, his face turning crimson, from aristocratic ears to handsome forehead.

As taken aback as Dean had been by the beginning of their conversation, he was now positively astounded.

“I’m Dean,” was the only thing he felt able to answer, chastising himself almost immediately. As unusually as this man—as _Castiel_ —was behaving, he surely would not care what Dean’s name was. Would he?

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said simply, his blue eyes boring into Dean as his hands stilled on the rim of his hat. He said no more and made no other move. As a result, they both found themselves standing close to each other in a silence that should have felt uncomfortable, but oddly did not.

The moment felt too solemn for Dean to bear, so he made the decision to ignore it. At a loss for anything else to do or say, he resorted to the only thing he ever felt sure of.

He gave a tour of the stables to Castiel and presented to him each horse one by one. For someone who had visited the stables so often during the last few days, Castiel seemed oddly squeamish about the beasts. He stayed closer to Dean than to the horses and declined politely each time Dean offered for him to pat the beasts.

Dean was a little taken aback at first that _anyone_ would pass on stroking Ranchero’s mane, as he was the most affectionate animal Dean had ever cared for. However, as Castiel’s suit must have cost more than a decade worth of Dean’s wages, he chose not to hold it against him. With the small smiles appearing on his face at some of Dean’s anecdotes, it would have been impossible to in any case.

Nightfall cut their time together short. Castiel bid him a good night the most proper way he could whilst still insisting that Dean should call him by his name, and it almost felt as if they were two old friends parting ways after a hearty night of food and merrymaking.

Dean was no fool, however. He knew he could never truly be friends with a nobleman, never mind Castiel’s kindness or the way he laughed at his weak jokes. Dean was but a servant, a member of the lowest class, and Castiel was on the other side of the world for him—completely out of his reach.

Nevertheless, Castiel had affected Dean more than he would ever have expected, as it was only when he was drifting to sleep that night that he realised he had completely forgotten to have dinner, and more importantly he had not taken the time to finish reading Sam’s letter.

~

Dean slept so well that night that he woke up early enough and well-rested enough to immerse himself in Sammy’s words.

Dean told himself that it was mainly because everything was going well for Sam that he was in such a good mood all day, his duties soothing instead of tedious and the birds singing more cheerfully than usual.

His cheer was sustained all through the day, and was sealed in place in the evening, when at the end of his workday but before sunset, Castiel came to visit him once again.

He still looked nervous about approaching the horses, yet Dean could not fathom why he would visit the stables again and again if not to make their acquaintance.

Dean thought perhaps that Castiel’s relationship with horses was similar to Dean’s with noble people. They made him anxious in general, but one good interaction could alter his standpoint on the subject.

He did not glance at the other man when this thought came to him, choosing instead to focus his attention on the horses.

“How oddly named they all are,” Castiel remarked, eyeing Gremlin with interest, whilst staying a safe distance from him.

Dean was a little startled, as Castiel had not much contributed to the conversation so far, and it was with some trepidation that he went on, knowing that the explanation was far from conventional, yet hoping that Castiel would not hold it against him.

“Well... we are not actually calling them by their true names,” he clarified, examining Castiel’s reaction for any indignation at this news. As he saw none, he proceeded, “The Viscount and his family hardly ever visit their stables, and most of the horses’ full names being quite the mouthful, we—a handful of the other servants and I—gave them each a nickname that we felt fit their personalities better.” As Castiel still looked doubtful, yet not explicitly repulsed, Dean decided there would be no harm in telling him the whole story. “My friend Charlie, who is one of the lower housemaids, she enjoys retellings of any and all fairy tales and has succeeded in finding herself in possession of this new German book. I do not know if you have heard of it, but it is truly captivating. The tales it weaves are much more gruesome than one would expect from children stories, and as one never knows whether this horse will act like an absolute monster or as sweetly as can be, she chose a name reminding her of the books’ authors, the Grimm brothers.”

Dean was detangling a knot in Gremlin’s mane as he rambled on, feeling a bit embarrassed when he had finished his account and realised Castiel was not responding. However, his expression when Dean turned back towards him was neither mocking nor bored, but one vacillating between awe and wonder.

Not knowing how to react to it, Dean chose not to. “Do you know of this book?” he asked instead.

“I do not. Although by how you made it sound, it would feel like a crime for me not to read it. I am also quite impressed that your friend would know how to read German. And that she would succeed in procuring herself such a book.”

When Dean glanced back at Castiel once again, he looked like he wanted to say more. Something must have made him change his mind however, because they soon settled in a companionable silence as Dean finished brushing Gremlin down.

In spite of his curiosity, Dean did not ask Castiel any questions about himself, as it was not his place to do so. Their nascent friendship was not pretext enough for him to forget his place. He was and would always be nothing more than a stable boy, so he settled for peppering his grooming with small facts about each horse, delighted by every little sound of surprise or wonder Castiel would make.

All in all, it was too short a time before Castiel gazed towards the setting sun and declared that it was time for him to take his leave. Dean knew such a separation was inevitable, yet could not help feeling bereft when it came. How Castiel could make him feel so alive by his mere presence was entirely beyond Dean.

“I do hope that you would allow for me to come back on tomorrow’s evening, so that I could further my education on horses’ names and German literature,” Castiel said. He was ready for his trek back to the house, his hat held in both hands and his coat smoothed of any wrinkles. Apparently, the only thing he still needed before he could depart was for Dean to answer his question.

Dean was so elated by the idea that he forgot to be shocked that a Lord would ask for his permission on any subject at all.

“Certainly!” he blurted out, feeling his cheeks warm up at such outward enthusiasm. “I would love to,” he added more quietly, barely able to hear his own voice over the thunder of his heartbeat. Castiel’s eyes were fixed on him, and Dean could have believed that he was looking right through his soul, if such a thing were possible. He could not believe he had just been so forward. Because despite trusting Castiel more than he should, there was still a voice in his head warning him that this man had only one word to say for Dean to lose his positon and his income, for Sam to lose his education and end up on the street.

However, before Dean could correct his mistake and assure Castiel that he would never dare bar him from going anywhere on the estate, Castiel was smiling in that reserved way of his, putting his hat back on, and waving Dean goodbye.

“I will see you soon then,” Castiel said.

Dean, fool that he was, contented himself with waving back and watching Castiel’s elegant gait as he drew away.

~

Things went on this way for several days after that.

Castiel would come to the stables at the end of the day, to watch Dean take care of the horses and listen to his tales regarding their nicknames, the gossip among the servants, or anything that came to Dean’s mind really.

The grooming Dean did during that time was never part of his duties, but something he chose to do in addition to them so that his hands would be occupied in Castiel’s presence. He did not know what he would do with them otherwise.

As a result, the horses had never been happier, they were cared for so thoroughly. Dean hoped that their good mood would encourage Castiel to approach them more closely, but no such thing had happened yet. It was Dean’s guess—from what he knew of noble people—that Castiel must have fallen down as a child, and that he had been scared of riding ever since.

Dean was very impressed that with such a phobia Castiel would still come to the stables daily without any hesitation in his step.

Dean realised at the end of the fifth day that he had never been happier either. Only a few childhood memories from before his mother’s death could compare to the way his evenings with Castiel made him feel.

“What about Ranchero?” Castiel asked on their ninth evening together. “You have not told me yet of the meaning behind his name.”

There was a reason why Dean had skirted that subject, generally preferring to extol on all of Impala’s virtues instead. Saying simply that Garth was the one to have chosen the name would be the truth, but it would not be the whole truth, and there was something in Castiel’s expression when he was looking at Dean that transformed a half-truth into a lie, making it impossible for Dean not to reveal it all.

“It was Garth who chose the name, from stories I had told him of my childhood.”

Castiel was regarding him with more attention than ever, understanding that this story was precious to Dean. As much as he had talked at length of his life here and on precedent estates, of Sammy and of his friends, he had yet to mention one word about this time of his life.

“Will you tell me these stories too?” Castiel asked gently, demonstrating once again that he never took what Dean gave of him for granted, even though the difference in their condition meant he had every right to.

With a small smile, Dean—as he was wont to do—gave Castiel what he asked for.

“I do not know much of my grandparents, but for the fact that they disapproved entirely of the match between my mother and father. From what I understand now, my father was much below my mother in status and her family would not abide such a decline. They loved each other so much however that they eloped and undertook together the voyage to the Americas in hope of a new beginning. They had the means necessary for the purchase of house and land, but my mother needed to tend the house and my father to work the land. It may seem like a haunting prospect for most, but I can assure you that this life made them entirely happy. The place I grew up in was built during the Spanish expansion and was named a _ranch_. My father bred horses there and that is where I learnt to care for them.”

The expression on Castiel’s face when Dean glanced at him was dreamy and for one moment Dean could almost imagine that the late afternoon sun warming his skin was coming from the Arkansas skies. How lovely it would be to be there again and have Castiel with him.

His fantasy evaporated just as a light cloud cast a shadow over them. Dean tried to capture some of the sensation it had procured in his mind and in his chest, but it was now completely gone, leaving only the harsh reality behind. The smallest wish Dean could make at this moment was for Castiel not to ask him the rest of his story.

“What about you, Castiel?” Dean asked, hoping for his voice not to quake. “Did you grow up closer to here?”

Dean did not succeed in making the change of subject as smooth as he had wished and the cloud that had just passed in the sky was now crossing Castiel’s face. It did not last however and Castiel did answer Dean’s question, “Yes. I was indeed born less than an ocean away from here.” He gave no more detail than that, yet his expression said much more.

Dean understood that Castiel would surely have wildly preferred to have spent his childhood several oceans away, but could not fathom how a lord could be unsatisfied by his condition. Dean did not mind his work in the stables, though he would certainly always long for a life where he could take care of his little brother without ever worrying about his next meal or whether his employer was tired of him yet.

Nonetheless, there was something in the upturn of Castiel’s smile, in the fidgeting of his hands, in the stiffness of his posture that persuaded Dean that Castiel had lived through ordeals Dean could not imagine. He recognised in this instant that this must have been the exact reason why he had been drawn into this friendship with a nobleman in the first place. Castiel was unlike any other member of his rank in many more ways than one.

As Dean reflected on it, he felt suddenly Castiel standing right next to him and Ranchero, shedding all of his caution of the beast at once.

Dean’s surprise at Castiel approaching the horse was completely swallowed by the emotions their closeness elicited.

“It is, perhaps,” Castiel hesitated, “time for me to finally… ride a horse again?”

To say that Dean was gobsmacked by that statement would have been a true understatement. He had indeed stopped believing Castiel would ever be willing to approach a horse let alone ride one.

Aware that the offer might expire at any moment, he hurried to answer, exhilarated by the mere idea of Castiel on a horse, “Of course. Which of them would you like to take?” Dean tried to determine in his mind which beast would suit an inexperienced rider the most. Ranchero was the sweetest of course but had a tendency to tire easily and Dean did not know how long Castiel wished to ride. “How well do you know the surrounding woods?” he asked, intent of finding the best mount for Castiel’s needs. “It would not do for you to get lost with a horse not accustomed to all the usual paths.”

“Oh,” Castiel let out, surprise marking his features. “I was presuming that you may… but of course I cannot pull you from your duties… although perhaps it would be possible for you to… accompany me?”

True joy invaded Dean at the idea, although it was true that he had duties he would have to escape from. Yet in that moment, saying no to Castiel was unacceptable. Whatever may occur, Dean would find a way to go on a ride with him. Castiel asking to ride felt like such a brave thing and Dean would do everything he could to make it possible.

“Of course,” Dean answered simply. He would certainly have to ask Bobby first, but could see no reason why the coachman would oppose a nobleman’s demand. It would very well be the first time that the ability of a lord to order someone around would benefit Dean.

Castiel beamed so brightly that Dean knew any of Bobby’s berating would be worth it.

~

“What do you mean, about going on an afternoon ride?”

Bobby was more baffled than angered by Dean’s request, yet most emotions were easily turned into ill temper where he was concerned, so Dean took great care to keep some distance between them.

“One of the lords spending time at the estate has asked that I escort him on an afternoon ride,” Dean explained again, keeping hope that Bobby would not ask many more questions about it.

Bobby eyed him suspiciously, but before Dean could think of something else to say that would convince him, the old man finally relented, “Well. If it is a lord that has asked this of you, there is not much I would do to keep it from happening.”

“The situation is not unheard of,” Dean felt the need to add, Bobby’s still doubtful expression unnerving him somewhat.

“True,” Bobby agreed easily, “But from what I know of you and your relationship with most nobles, you’ll allow me to be surprised.”

Dean did have to give him that, but dared not say more in fear of revealing too much.

“Ash will be cutting down trees all of tomorrow, so be careful not to take horses that spook easily. It would not do to for one of the Viscount’s guests to break their arm on your watch, boy.”

Dean nodded, adjusting in his head the choice of horse he would make for Castiel. This simple task felt suddenly of monumental importance.

“And I will expect all of your usual duties to be taken care of in a timely manner anyhow,” Bobby added, looking at Dean as though he was trying to trick him into renouncing his escapade.

“Of course,” Dean answered, hoping on Bobby not counting the extra grooming he had done recently amongst his usual duties. Bobby could not reasonably expect Chevelle to look as good as he did nowadays if Dean was occupied for half of the day. Thankfully, Dean suspected that Bobby did not expect Chevelle to look so good in general.

Dean was about to take his leave when Bobby stopped him, calling his name once more. “I don’t like repeating myself, it always makes me feel like an old grouch, but be careful, boy.”

Dean did not know how to answer other than, “Don’t worry Bobby, I will.” He could infer however, that this second warning was no longer about his choice of horse. It made him feel somewhat raw inside, as if Bobby could see in him much more than Dean wanted to show.

His only wish was that it was not too bad an omen.

~

The afternoon of the ride came quicker than Dean had expected, yet it seemed like he had been waiting for it for aeons. He felt more nervous than on the day he had applied for the position in this estate and simultaneously more elated than the last time he had visited Sam.

Dean was naturally exhilarated first and foremost by the mere idea of getting to ride Impala. The mare was the most beautiful beast this side of the ocean, and Dean felt more of a kinship with her than with most of his acquaintances. Unfortunately she was not his, and a nobleman asking for him to accompany him on a ride was indeed the first occasion he could justify taking her out with him.

Then there was of course Castiel himself. Dean had never met a nobleman so un-lord-like. There had been a few that were as handsome, yes, but none had ever been as kind. Of all the gentlemen Dean had worked for, none had ever looked upon Dean as if he were a human being, so being treated to Castiel, who sometimes regarded Dean as if he were the most important human being in the world, felt quite heavenly.

Dean was not sure his heart would bear spending a whole afternoon with him, as it felt full to bursting most of the time they were together.

When Castiel arrived at the stables, punctual and dressed in one of the fanciest riding clothes Dean had witnessed so far, Dean felt himself vibrate with anticipation.

He had reflected on it long and hard and had finally selected the horse he thought would suit Castiel the best.

Continental was a fjord mare. Her small size yet sturdy build were ideal for someone who was anxious about riding or horses in general, and her very sweet disposition would guarantee that however tense he was, there was no risk she would throw off Castiel. Concurrently, the rare yellow-dun colour of her coat made her appear almost golden in the afternoon sun, giving her a quality more fitting of a nobleman than her stature would let one think.

From what Dean had witnessed of Castiel’s attitude towards the horses so far, he had expected the action of mounting one to be difficult and to take some reassurance from Dean first. In some lost hours between his body laying down and sleep claiming him, he had even imagined that he would have to carry Castiel to the horse, his hands on Castiel’s hips and his nose scenting the sweat at the back of his neck.

It had evidently been nothing more than a fantasy, as Castiel surprised Dean once more by mounting Continental in one smooth move, finding himself sitting comfortably on her saddle before Dean even had the occasion to ask if he needed any help.

At Dean’s stunned expression, Castiel took on a timid expression, looking down at where his hands where gripping Continental’s reins so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

“I have been inwardly readying myself ever since I knew I wanted to ask you on a ride, to make certain I would be able to do that,” he explained. He was obviously still very tense, his knees clenching Continental’s flanks more forcefully than was necessary, yet Dean could not help but admire him.

He had not known Castiel for a long time, but everything he had seen of his fear of horses had been true and mighty. It made what Castiel was achieving now that much more awe-inspiring. Additionally, the fact that he did with the sole purpose of going on a ride with _Dean_ , made him feel privileged in a way his station would always forbid.

Dean still made sure once more that Continental’s saddle was well-adjusted, not wanting to take any chance. As courageous as the man was, Dean did not want anything to happen that would heighten Castiel’s fear. He knew he would not forgive himself otherwise.

They went slowly at first. With the way Castiel was clutching at Continental it would not have been possible for her to go much faster, and Dean would not have advised it in any case.

As they got further away, it was soon indisputable that Castiel had not only received a very thorough formal training in horse riding, but also that he had acquired a great deal of experience throughout the years, despite having been unpractised for some time.

Dean could only be even more intrigued by what could have caused such a manifestly good rider to get so terrified of these noble beasts.

The longer they spent riding, with Dean making stupid jokes and Castiel laughing heartily nonetheless, the more confident Castiel seemed to become. So much so, that after a few miles at a light trot, Dean reckoned Castiel was relaxed enough for things to be made a bit more interesting.

Castiel made Dean bolder than he had ever felt since he learnt as a child what the conditions of his birth resigned him to. Castiel made him bold and he made him seen, and he just made feel so _free_.

Dean was instantly drunk on these emotions, so unused to them as he was, and combined with being atop Impala, he felt euphoric, he felt invincible.

Dean seized Castiel’s hat and took off at a gallop, with the certainty that Castiel would chase after him, and that it would be _marvellous_.

It worked just as intended, and with a truly offended look on his face, Castiel stirred Continental to run after Dean.

With laughter bubbling inside his chest, Dean looked ahead and encouraged Impala not to go fast enough that Continental’s smaller legs would make them fall too far behind. After all, Dean would hate when he looked back not to have seen Castiel unconsciously reaching for a hat that was no longer there, and to have missed the put upon look it brought on his face.

Dean exploded in a fit of laughter so forceful that it startled Impala into slowing down. The poor beast must suspect him of being the victim of some kind of seizure. Her hesitancy allowed Castiel to catch up with them, and despite the clear annoyance in his expression, the first thing he did was not to reach for his hat, but to join Dean in his laughter, his teeth shining white and bright in the dimness brought on by the lush forest trees.

It was a few beats after they had both stopped laughing that Dean realised he was still staring at Castiel’s mouth. He quickly averted his eyes and looked at their surroundings instead.

“We are not so far from a small pond that houses the most ridiculous frogs,” he said, pretending the accrued rhythm of his heart was due to the fast riding and not from Castiel’s knee brushing his as their horses stood side by side. “Would you like to see it?”

“Of course,” Castiel answered immediately, and if Dean dared looking at him, he knew Castiel would be staring right back.

The only thing Dean could think of doing in response was lifting up Impala’s reins and starting to make their way towards the pond.

They rode at a slow pace, their knees not brushing anymore but Castiel’s presence still thick besides Dean. The simple fact that if Dean reached out he could touch Castiel’s elbow made something inside his stomach flutter. And the knowledge that Castiel would not push him back did nothing to help Dean’s condition.

As they arrived in view of the pond and the trees thinned out, letting way for the gentle sounds and smells of the local wildlife, Dean was torn between the hope that Castiel would love it as much as he did and the fear that he would find it dull or too sentimental.

He was in fact concentrating so much on what was about to happen, that when a great thundering sound broke their peaceful quiet, he let out a cry he was not very proud of.

However, Dean’s reaction to what must have been the sound of Ash felling a tree was unimportant. What mattered was that one moment Castiel was riding alongside Dean, his fear of horses naught but a long-gone memory, and the next his expression had turned absolutely terrified, and his body had thrown itself on the ground in a most violent manner—seemingly of its own volition. If Continental’s pace had been only a little faster than the lazy stroll it was, Dean was quite sure that the fall would have broken Castiel’s neck.

Still, Castiel’s situation was very much worrying. Even after Dean had dismounted and pulled both horses a few paces away to make sure they would not accidentally hurt him, Castiel had not stood up. He was hunched up at the foot of a beech tree, amongst grass, dirt and dead leaves.

Dean saw no blood; Castiel was not injured—perhaps some contusions on his hands, which he had fallen down on. Yet the look in his eyes was far away and he did not seem to be aware of his surroundings any more. He did not hear Dean calling his name, did not see the bird’s nest lodged a few branches above him, did not smell the resin running down the trunk’s bark.

Not knowing what to do, only that there was nothing he _could_ do, Dean settled on sitting down next to Castiel. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for Castiel to know he was there.

After a few moments of feeling a bit silly—not knowing what to do with his hands and the only thought keeping him sat down being that if someone were to pass by, they would just look like two travel companions taking a break on a long journey—Dean started humming. It was a sweet tune his mother used croon to Sammy when she was nursing him, and it always made Dean feel a little more at peace with the world.

It did not appease Dean’s nerves at all, because what could? Castiel was in distress and there was nothing Dean could do. He knew how to take care of horses and he had minded Sam for most of his brother’s childhood, but had no idea how to handle people—how to behave around _lords_.

Castiel had always made him feel like being himself was all was needed, but in this particular instance, Dean knew he was not enough. What was happening right now to Castiel was the proof of it. Dean was nothing but a groom, a stable boy, a _servant_ , and he had been wrong to ever think differently.

Whether Dean’s little song worked or not, whether Dean putting his arm around Castiel would have helped or not, at least the situation did not seem to get worse. It even slowly appeared to be getting better.

The horses were growing impatient and the sun was starting to set, but above all Castiel had begun humming alongside Dean. His voice, so deep and charming when he pronounced Dean’s name, sounded horrendous while it tried to hold a tune, and yet it was one of the most comforting sound Dean had heard in a while.

“How are you doing?” Dean dared to ask, when Castiel had quietened once more. “Are you hurt?”

He thought at first that Castiel would not answer, and that they would both stay sat under this tree until the ends of time (or until Bobby came for Dean’s hide), yet after only a few beats, Castiel did open his mouth to finally speak.

“My apologies, Dean. You did not deserve to be put through this. I have some...issues,” he lifted his eyes towards Dean as he pronounced that last word, an apprehension in his expression, as if expecting to see anger or reproach in return. With none of that coming from Dean, the barest of smiles bloomed on Castiel’s face and he went on. “Perhaps was I not as ready to ride again as I believed myself to be.”

Dean wanted to tell him that it was not true, that he had done very well because he _had_. If only Dean had thought to warn him about Ash’s forest work, none of this would have happened. Castiel did not let him take the blame however, cutting him off before he had the time to start speaking.

“I am a soldier,” Castiel said, his voice not far from trembling. “Or at least I was, until I was not able to be anymore. War is...”

Dean did not know much about war. He knew it was all the French’s fault and that many young men like him had no other choice but to enrol if they wanted to be able to feed themselves. He had always imagined that the noblemen who went to war watched the battles from far behind the front lines, comfortably seated on fat, expensive horses. The haunted look in Castiel’s expression told him this had not been his experience.

“War must be the closest thing to Hell men were able to devise. I rode to battle each and every day. I saw my brothers in arm die, people being torn apart by cannonballs and bled dry by bullet wounds. And I...” Castiel’s voice caught on the sound. “I was responsible for so many deaths myself. French lives are no less human lives than ours. Young men crying out and hurting and dying, and I just stopped feeling anything for a while. Each day I saw more and more people get hurt, each day I was the one hurting people too, and each day I lost a little more of myself.”

As Castiel took in a deep breath, he seemed to become calmer. Telling Dean his story appeared to be lifting a weight from his shoulders, and if listening was the only thing Dean was able to do, he was at least comforted by the fact that it was helping.

“And then one day, because it was inevitable, war struck me like it had struck so many around me. A cannon ball landed at the feet of my horse. One moment I was riding through _grognards_ , and the next I found myself unable to move. I was down; my horse had died and somehow fallen on me. There were cries and explosions all around me, soldiers falling down or stumbling over me. I had to wait for the battle to abate and for scavengers to come my way before my shouts were finally heard and I could be brought back to our camp. Yet I neither died nor lost a limb, something broke in me that day. I did not understand at once what had happened to my mind, but on the next day I was given a fresh horse and told to go back and I—” Castiel paused, and if it had only lasted a second more, Dean would have believed, by the look on his face, that he was not going to continue. “I froze in perhaps the same way I did here. The most notable difference, was that my superior officer’s methods were far from as soothing as yours. He put me on a saddle and sent me to battle before I had a chance to come back to myself. I was touched by an enemy’s bayonet almost as soon as I entered the battlefield.”

Dean could feel his eyes open wide as he heard Castiel’s story, could feel them searching his body for any trace of injury. He knew whatever had happened to Castiel must have healed by now, yet an incontrollable part of himself wanted to tend to his wounds and make certain Castiel was safe. He did not dare reach out, however.

“By the grace of God the cut did not kill me, but I bled deeply and was too weakened to go back to battle. I was unveiled as the coward I truly was and sent back home, dishonoured and shamed. I did not believe I would ever be able to ride again until I met you.”

As he said it, Castiel pulled down his elegant scarf, exposing his throat. There, just below his Adam’s apple, Dean could see a scar, slightly redder than the skin around it, and this time his hand braved the distance between them. His fingers grazed the rough skin of Castiel’s neck, hoping to alleviate his pain, yet knowing that, whatever he did, he would not be able to share it.

At a loss for what to say, for how to respond to Castiel opening himself up to him, all Dean could think to do was to make himself vulnerable in return.

“I have not been to war, but I have seen violent things too. Men taking the face of evil for no other reason than their own interest. Destruction taking over and sowing death all around it. When we lived in Arkansas, we were happy. My parents led a simple life and kept to themselves, content to settle for what their hard work could procure for our family. Yet people learnt of my mother’s noble origins and seemed to think we were hiding a wealth we did not possess. One night a man came to our house, intent to loot and plunder, but there was no hidden treasure to find and he concluded his hunt by putting fire to our house. My father entrusted me with my brother—who was still just a babe—and tried to get my mother out of the flames, but it was in vain. She perished, leaving us destitute, alone and heartbroken.”

With such hard memories coming back to him, his hand still touching Castiel’s throat felt too much, flooding his senses and his mind alike. Yet, as he tried to gather it back to him, he felt Castiel’s fingers take hold of his wrist, softer than any hands that had ever touched him. Dean’s head attempted to remind him that these were noble hands and that he was not worth being grazed by them, but his heart beat so hard that it drowned out all thoughts that could not be reduced to this one word: _Castiel_.

Then, somehow, Dean’s hand was no longer on Castiel’s neck. Rather, their fingers intertwined with each other, attempting to caress and hold fast at once. There was nothing else than this sensation, spreading like quick fire all through Dean, and the blue of Castiel’s eyes, absolute and brighter than anything else was allowed to be underneath the canopy.

Castiel’s lips parted, as if he was about to ask a question. Dean knew not what it was, yet felt absolutely certain that the answer was yes. There were only inches separating them anymore. They were dangerously close yet the distance seemed insurmountable. Castiel had called himself a coward, though he was manifestly the bravest man on earth, as he was the one who dared act when all Dean could do was stare in wonderment.

As their lips met, Dean’s whole self became overcome with desire and all control he had on his body was lost. His eyes closed, and every part of his skin sought to get closer to Castiel’s; one hand on his cheek, the other at his waist, his legs slotting themselves with Castiel’s.

Dean did not know how long it lasted but by the time they separated, he felt simultaneously like he had gained the experience of a whole life yet had just been reborn.

He had kissed several girls before, had even sneaked a few pecks with boys in his youth. This was the first time he kissed _Castiel_ , and it meant enough to obliterate any and all of his past experiences. This was where he was meant to be, with Castiel’s hand brushing his hair tenderly, his mouth breathing sweet nothings against his skin.

Despite Dean’s wish that they could stay this way forever, the elements were not on their side. The sun was now almost gone, and they needed to leave the forest before the darkness made their journey too dangerous to undertake.

They both stood up reluctantly, their hands refusing to leave each other, knowing getting back to the estate and having to separate was inevitable.

Castiel being unable to get back on Continental, they made the journey back on foot, one hand leading their horse by the reins, and the other brushing each other’s as they walked along. It felt at once like the most exciting thing Dean had ever done, and like it should be a completely usual part of his everyday life.

By the time they got back to the estate, night had completely fallen. Thankfully, the moon was bright and the sky clear, allowing them to see well enough not to lose their path.

The moonlight was enough as well for Dean to perceive on Castiel’s face the same unwillingness to end their time together as Dean was feeling.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Castiel asked, releasing Continental’s reins to take Dean’s hands in his.

“Certainly! I would ask you to spend the whole night on my pallet with me, if I knew not how impossible it was.” The words had come more quickly than Dean had expected them to, and he hoped the darkness dimmed somewhat the blush he could feel heating his face.

“I would if I could,” Castiel answered simply, tightening his hold on Dean’s hands. “Alas if we desire to meet again tomorrow we must first go our separate ways, but I urge you, as you wait for our time together to resume, to picture how sweet our reunion will be.”

“In a perfect world our lives would be filled with these reunions without us ever needing to separate. But I will take the imperfect world we live in over any other, because it was the one that brought you to me.”

Castiel’s answering smile was enough for Dean not to regret the excessive sentimentality of his last statement.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel whispered as he leaned forwards, his nose almost brushing Dean’s. He could feel their breaths intermingling and he was no longer sure whether they were saying their goodbyes or greeting each other.

“Good night, Castiel.”

As Dean whispered it back, he felt a slight shift in Castiel’s demeanour, but before he could worry at all, one of Castiel’s hands left his to cup his cheek, and Castiel’s face tilted even closer, his lips caressing Dean’s ear. “Castiel was the nickname I received on the front. It holds with it all of the violence of war and dishonour I brought to myself.”

“I wish I could erase it all,” Dean said, loathing the sadness that had appeared between them. _Castiel_ was nothing but a word, and he was willing to completely erase it from his vocabulary if it meant bringing comfort to the man who was so dear to his heart. “I will call you Cas, then. I always have a diminutive for the people I care for.”

Dean could feel Cas’s smile on his when their lips met each other for the last time that day.

~

It was only when he was on his own that Dean realised how tired and hungry this afternoon had made him, as though being deprived of Cas’s presence had drained his vitality all at once.

The kitchens being closed meant that he would have to wait for the morning before he could sate his hunger, so he went directly to his pallet as soon as he had returned Continental and Impala to their stalls.

However, before being able to make it there, he came face to face with the stern silhouette of Bobby. The old man was sat on an upturned pail in the corner of the harness room, his arms folded and the look on his face signifying quite clearly that Dean was in serious trouble.

Dean glanced around, expecting perhaps something to have been damaged or destroyed, but there was nothing out of the ordinary here as there had been nothing out of place in the horses’ stalls.

“You’re late, boy,” Bobby grunted, as imposing sitting down as anybody else would be standing up. All of the light-heartedness Dean was still feeling from his afternoon with Cas evaporated at once. Bobby’s harshness towards Dean had only ever aimed at protecting him from his own foolhardiness; Dean had never seen him look as irate as he was now.

“There was an incident,” Dean tried to explain. “The lord—”

“What lord, boy?” Bobby barked, cutting Dean off before he had the time to think how he could describe what had happened without giving away too much. “Mr Worthy came by the stables this afternoon, looking to stocktake the horses and was quite put-upon to see two of them missing! He told me all of the Viscount’s guests were listening to the Lady Anna’s piano recital in the great room, and that so far as anyone knows none of them had slipped away to go on a ride with one of the Viscount’s grooms.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. What could Bobby mean by this? It did not make sense.

“Well, obviously Mr Worthy was mistaken. Being the Viscount’s steward does not make one infallible. It happened exactly as I told you yesterday. The lord asked for me to accompany him on a ride and I did! I did not lie. You know you can trust me, Bobby.”

Dean was pleading now, but the coachman still remained unmoved.

“That I believe you or not is no matter, Dean. Your word or mine is worthless compared to that of the estate’s steward.”

There was still coldness in Bobby’s voice, yet Dean could hear desperation most of all. Desperation, worry and the fierce desire to protect. Dean was suddenly struck with the notion that Cas and Bobby would certainly get on quite well if they ever had the chance to meet.

“Mr Worthy will no doubt be appeased that the horses are back in the stables safe and sound, but I warn you that nothing like this can ever happen again if you wish to keep your position.”

Dean nodded solemnly. He had changed jobs often enough in the past that he knew losing one would not end his life, yet the mere idea of being sent somewhere he would not see Castiel again made his blood curdle.

“I have arranged for you to be part of the party that will go tomorrow into town. The steward is tasked with acquiring a new horse and I felt it would help you get back in his good graces if you were to accompany him.”

Something heavy dropped inside of Dean’s innards. Of course, in any other circumstances, Bobby’s proposition was the kindest, the most generous. Not only did he not punish Dean for his misstep, but he offered him a way to redeem himself. And yet... Dean knew of these trips into town, Bobby was the one to usually make them with the steward. When it happened, he was away for the entire day—if there was no need to stay the night in order to secure a purchase. Were Dean to go with Mr Worthy for the day, this would mean a day without seeing Cas. Worse than that, it would mean Cas coming by the stables and not finding Dean there. Cas thinking Dean had forgotten him or lied to him. Thinking he did not mean to Dean as much as he really did.

Dean could not stand that thought, yet could not refuse Bobby’s offer either. Inside his mind, his thoughts were racing as fast as galloping horses, until they stumbled thankfully on an idea.

This would not be as good as seeing Cas—little in this world could be, but it would be the next best thing. He would write a note to Cas, justifying his absence. Writing it would take much time out of his night, and he did not have the faintest how it would reach Cas, but it was the best he could do for now.

Dean did not remember how the last of his conversation with Bobby went. He could only recall that he was to leave at dawn, and that it did not leave him much time to compose his note.

If reading was a difficult task that Dean usually only undertook for the sake of Sam’s correspondence, writing was one he seldom did at all, and at which he was subsequently very bad. Furthermore, with barely any light and no desk at his disposition, the prospect of writing even only a few words was daunting. However, this note was too important for Dean to mishandle. He needed to apply as much care as he humanly could, yet he did not have one minute to waste.

It needed to be simple, and Cas needed to read it and know in his bones that Dean was sincere. Thanks to Charlie and some of the books she had showed him, Dean was lucky enough to have read words like these in his lifetime, but did not think himself capable of writing them.

With his eyes starting to burn and his hand trembling from the lack of sleep, Dean finally settled on, _“I was sent to town for the day. I am sorry. I wish I were with you.”_

His mind refused to picture how badly he would feel in the morning—only a few hours away—if he did not sleep right away, yet there was still one more thing he had to do before his body could finally rest. As swiftly and quietly as he could, Dean slunk through the gardens and towards the house, slipped inside the servants’ quarters and went right to Charlie’s bunk, hoping not to wake any of the girls with whom she was sharing her room.

His hand on her shoulder woke her at once, though it seemed to take a few more moments before her open eyes focused fully on him.

“Dean?” she asked, a bit too loudly for his taste. “What are you doing here?”

She had whispered these last words, yet Dean still felt the need to shush her before he answered, his words barely above a murmur, “There is something I need to ask of you. Will you please give this note to one of the Viscount’s guests?” He shoved the scrap of paper in her hands, not letting her the chance to react before going on. “His name is Castiel, he has dark hair and clear eyes. He—you will recognise him, you have to—his expression is softer and more sincere than any other lord, perhaps you even know him already…”

“Dean,” she cut him off, her tone stern enough to quieten him. “I can see that this matters very much to you so I will try my best, but you know I am only a lower housemaid. Speaking to a lord is almost impossible to me. If this were not the middle of the night I would use this opportunity to inquire how yourself know one of the Viscount’s guests so well.”

Dean knew he would not escape Charlie’s curiosity, but it did not bother him. He could trust her and would tell her everything in due time, but now was not the moment. Exhaustion was taking over his body and mind, and he could feel both of those start to give way. “Will you do it?”

She either heard something in his voice that persuaded her or was too tired to argue, for the next words that left her mouth were, “I will.”

Dean heard his sigh of relief before he felt it leave his lungs. “You will?”

“Yes. Now go to sleep. You clearly need it dearly.”

Dean did.

~

Only a few hours separated the time Dean finally found his pallet from dawn. Between the anxiety that Cas would not get his letter and Bobby’s earlier words resonating in his dreams, Dean did not feel like he had slept at all. How close was Mr Worthy to request for Dean to be dismissed? Why had he not known about Cas’s ride out with Dean? Or had he lied about it? But why would he do that?

In one of his dreams that night, Mr Worthy found Dean and Cas together, and Dean was punished by being metamorphosed into a horse. Cas became then so frightened by him that Dean never saw him again. In another, Dean arrived late at their appointment, but early enough to see Bobby tell Cas that he was not one of the Viscount’s guests and to send him off back to war. In the worst of them, Cas finally realised that Dean was nothing but a stable boy. He then promptly decided to marry the Lady Anna and to never talk to Dean again.

After such a night, fatigue was quite obviously etched on Dean’s features, and Mr Worthy did not fail to notice it. His lip curled in distaste as he took Dean in, Dean’s stomach choosing just that moment to loudly remind him that the last time he had eaten was much too long ago. Decidedly, Mr Worthy was not impressed.

He stayed that way all through the day, ceasing to ignore Dean’s presence only to sneer or raise his eyebrows at him. As few words as possible were exchanged between them, making the day not only stressful, tiring and uncomfortable, but also excessively tedious.

Dean did not have many moments during which he had time to himself, yet without choosing to do it consciously, each and every one of them was dedicated to thinking about Cas. Despite not getting to see him that day, his eyes and his smile and the murmur of his voice were all with him all through the journey.

It was an honest wonder how Dean had lived so long without the prominent thought of Cas occupying his mind. He had no idea what was there before and whether there ever could be an after.

Fortunately, Mr Worthy did seem to find what he was looking for and they did not need to spend the night in town.

Unfortunately, rain started to fall, lengthening their travel by several hours. By the time they arrived, night had fallen and the whole estate was asleep. Dean wished very much he could go to Charlie’s room immediately to hear whether she succeeded in passing his message onto Cas—and whether she had a response from him, but he doubted she would welcome him waking her in the middle of the night two days in a row.

His body and his mind fought for a little while, one desperate for sleep, the other desperate for news from Cas. The struggle did not last long however, as exhaustion rapidly took over all of his being, gifting him with a thick dreamless sleep.

Dean did not feel as rested as he would have wished to when he woke up to the rooster’s cries the next morning, but the most of his fatigue had thankfully left him and there was a new spring to his step at the knowledge that he would without a doubt hear from Cas today.

Trying to keep his expectations reasonable—perhaps Charlie did not find Cas or he did not have the time to give her a response, perhaps Dean would need to explain his absence to Cas when they saw each other that night—still Dean went to the servants’ quarters with hope in his heart.

Dean decided to get breakfast before hassling Charlie in her room. The way his stomach was growling at the mere idea of the kitchen, this felt like the best course of action.

Ellen must have been called to duty elsewhere, as she for once was not there to keep her vigilant attention on them, leaving gossip to fly free. As always, the main subject was the Viscount’s family and their guests. Reckoning he might hear of Cas among the gentlemen his peers liked to comment on, Dean listened more closely to what was said than he would usually do.

“There were words between the Lady Anna and her mother,” Kate was saying, the attention of most of the people around the table on her. “The Lady Naomi doesn’t seem to care for the gentleman currently courting her.”

“Is the man’s background so distasteful that she would bring it up in public?” Andrea asked as she put down a loaf of bread in front of her, sounding appalled by the prospect.

“Oh, the argument did not take place in public,” Kate reassured her, something almost smug in her voice. “I dare say I was the only one who heard it as I was taking care of the Lady Anna’s bedroom curtains.”

“Whoever the gentleman is, neither his background nor his financial situation would ever be enough for the Lady Naomi’s standards,” Donna piped up wisely. She had been working on the Viscount’s estate long enough that Dean was very inclined to believe her.

“I expect the Prince Regent himself would not fit her expectations!” Alicia said, affecting a tone of voice that sounded like she was aiming to imitate the Lady Naomi’s.

“There is none but the Viscount who could convince her in accepting a match for the Lady Anna,” Donna added, unconcerned, as she sipped a cup of water.

“I would not think he’d convince her, rather that his word surpasses hers. Whatever he decides would _have_ to be respected,” Andrea said, generating an emphatic nod from Donna.

“How fortunate for the old Naomi then that he has been so discreet all his life!” Alicia quipped, her disrespect making most of the others frown or wince in some way and making a laugh bubble in Dean’s throat.

“Well, you say discreet, I say irresponsible,” Madison said, the harshness in her voice shushing the others. “The way he abandoned wife and child is absolutely shameful.”

“I have heard that _in truth_ —”

Dean did not get to know what Kate thought was the actual heart of the matter about the Viscount, as he got distracted on his listening in by Charlie’s arrival in the kitchen. He got up at once and joined her on the doorstep, not wanting his conversation with her to be as public as the one taking place around the table.

She obviously was of the same mind as he was, because as soon as he had reached her, she grabbed his arm to pull him further away from the kitchens. Dean went willingly, eager for any news of Cas, yet as he observed her expression more closely something froze inside his chest. His body must have known something was amiss before his mind even had the time to fathom it, for his heart had started beating violently in his chest, yet he did not understand why.

“There is no Castiel, Dean,” Charlie said. She had tried to make her voice the softest possible, but there was no disguising the harshness of what her words meant.

“What do you mean? I have spent time with him, of course there is a Castiel!” What Charlie was saying did not make any sense, yet the fact that it was so similar to Mr Worthy’s version of events scared him. “Perhaps people simply don’t know him by Castiel. It is a nickname after all,” Dean said as the thought came to him.

“No, you don’t understand,” Charlie cut him off, her tone darker than he had ever heard coming from her. “None of the Viscount’s guests match the description you gave me. I have skirted my duties most of the afternoon looking for him and asking after him, and none of the various lords and sundry present at the estate look anything like your Castiel.”

This could not be possible. What happened to Cas? Why had no one seen him? Was he really a guest here? Was he really a lord? Dean did not care if he was or not. What he cared about was whether he was alive or not, whether he had been abducted on his way back the other night, or whether he had fallen down and been trampled by cattle. He also cared whether what Cas had said he felt for Dean was real or not. For a short moment, Dean felt like desperation was about to engulf him completely. If he accepted to believe that Cas was gone, or even that Cas had never truly existed as the man Dean had kissed under a tree, then what did it mean for everything they had shared? Had it all been a lie? If so, it would mean that the value Cas had seemed to see in Dean was a lie too. Perhaps Dean really was worthless, as he had always known it to be true. He hated himself even more for believing one second that he could ever be _more_.

Tears did not come to his eyes; anger woven with panic warred deep inside him instead. He did not know yet if it would be directed at Cas or at whatever had taken Cas from him, but he needed to let it out by any means necessary.

As his hand curled into a fist, he realised that Charlie was still holding his arm. The tenderness in this gesture calmed him down more than he thought it would. Charlie was his friend, and there was no fault she had committed in telling him the truth. Perhaps she was mistaken or perhaps she was just the bearer of bad news, but she certainly did not deserve to witness the violence churning inside of him.

Instead of hitting the wall with his fist—which all in all would have been a rather bad idea—Dean grabbed Charlie’s hand in his. Like him, she was a worker and the skin of her palm was marred with thick calluses. Dean chose not to focus on how different it was from the last hand he had touched. Dean chose to think only of the comfort his friend provided for him despite his not deserving it.

If what she was saying about Cas was true—and there was still a minuscule part of himself that held hope it was not, that held hope that Cas would turn up that night in the stables, smile at him and laugh at the mere idea of nobody being able to recognize him—at least he had not lost his friend.

Charlie squeezed his hand gently and Dean squeezed back.

The sound of footsteps coming from the north side of the hallway interrupted their moment. Whatever happened, whoever and wherever Cas was, they all had duties to go back to. They separated with a small smile as a young valet came into view, seeming somewhat lost. Valets and Lady’s maids usually did not breakfast at the same hour as the lower servants did, and given the difference in their duties, Dean seldom crossed paths with any of them. From the quality of the boy’s clothing, Dean reckoned that his master must be one of the highest-ranking lords sojourning at the estate. Dean had experienced many a valet who behaved almost more obnoxiously than their lord, and was not in the mood for it right now, so he tried to make his exit as swiftly as he could.

However, just as he was turning around, he felt Charlie tugging him back in, and with a look in her eyes he could not interpret, she held out the letter he had written to Cas.

Without a word, he grabbed it and walked away, the paper crumpling in his fist.

He was already halfway to the stables when he realised that his vision had blurred and that his cheeks were wet.

~

Despite all events pointing him towards the exact opposite, Dean still imagined all day long that Cas would show up that evening, with the most reasonable explanation for everything. Several times, he found himself daydreaming of the sweet moments he had spent with Cas and of the ones who could still come if only things were different.

What if Charlie was right and Cas was not one of the Viscount’s guests? What if he was just like Dean, with no money and no title? What if they could be together with no one asking question nor having a say in it?

Dean would work harder and after some time they would get enough for a piece of land just large enough for the two of them. Certainly Cas was lettered enough that he could help Sam with his studies.

Dean’s memories of what having a family was were faint, yet he felt like the more he dreamt of a future with Cas, the more this feeling came back within his reach.

Whoever Cas really was, lord or peasant, soldier or monk, Dean thought their bond was strong enough that they could make a life together if they tried.

All he needed was for Cas to come back to him.

Except that Dean was nothing more than a fool and Cas did not come back that evening, nor on the next day.

Dean’s daydreams turned more and more into nightmares as Mr Worthy’s and Charlie’s words came back to him again and again. Perhaps something dreadful had happened to him or perhaps the Cas he knew might not even exist, but the most plausible explanation was that Cas was just another self-obsessed lord and that once he had gotten what he wanted for Dean, he and his lies had vanished back to where he came from.

Dean did not know why he did it, but on the third day with no sign of Cas, he decided that he had to try for himself to find Cas.

He did not really know how he would do it. As a stable hand, he had only ever been to the servants’ quarters for meals and he would no doubt be dearly punished if he was caught trespassing anywhere he was not supposed to be. Additionally, the only moment he could contemplate doing this was at night, as there was no way he would be able to skirt his duties long enough during the day.

With not much more than a vague idea of the house’s layout and no plan at all, Dean used the darkness of the next night to slither unseen towards the faint lights of the Viscount’s main house.

Given the sheer size of the Viscount’s fortune and the number of horses Dean had had to care for since the beginning of the season, he knew that there would be many guests staying at the estate. Still, he did not expect so many of them to have their windows illuminated by candle light at this hour of the night. Although Dean should have expected it, as lords and ladies generally did not need to wake up as early as he did and in consequence could afford to stay up later than servants did.

Not knowing how to proceed, Dean chose to start his search by looking through each of the ground floor windows. Hiding amongst the flower bushes bordering the house should not be too difficult if anyone were to notice him. He would think on how he could sneak to the second storey windows in due time.

Dean spent a lot of time in front of the unlit rooms, trying to see if one of the dark shadows inside could be Cas, whereas most of the lit ones housed a man or a woman reading by the firelight and could be passed rapidly. Most of the people Dean saw were unknown to him, though he did recognize one of the three aggravating lords he had prepared horses for on the day he had spoken to Cas for the first time. Dean commiserated with the laundry maid who was responsible for his room, as he was eating jam-filled cakes right in the middle of his bed, apparently unconcerned by the state of his sheets.

By the time he had finished inspecting the ground floor, Dean was still unsure how to reach the second storey while still staying as discreet as possible. The only point that seemed accessible from the outside was a balcony with some vines nearby that could provide enough grip for Dean to climb up, but Dean worried the windows would be too large for him to hide at all. After walking all-round the house one more time and not finding a better solution, Dean gripped the vine and started his climb. Once he had reached the balcony, there would be a cornice large enough that, if he was lucky, he could use to go all around the entire second storey.

No one got out to scream at him as he landed on the balcony with a _thud_ louder than he would have hoped and he chose to see that as a good sign. Although his fear that the French doors would be as large as the balcony turned out to be true, no one inside seemed to have noticed him yet. He tried to squeeze most of his body in the small space at the corner of the balcony, between the window and the railing, huddled against the wall, and glanced inside, expecting to see another one of the numerous Viscount’s guests. Instead, he recognised at once the Lady Anna, her bright red hair fanned out in front of her face as she was leaning over paper and what seemed like a very elaborated calligraphy set. She was thankfully too concentrated on her task to notice someone standing outside her window and Dean let out a breath of relief as he turned around to try and figure out his way to the next room to the right.

Just as he was about to bestride the railing, he saw just at the edge of his peripheral vision, someone entering the Lady Anna’s room. Thinking at first that there was no way for the new person not to see him, Dean froze at once, unsure of what to do. A profound dread took roots inside him, only to be completely replaced at a second glance by a violent and complete elation.

The man who had just joined the Lady Anna in her room was Cas.

Cas was alive, Cas existed, Cas was still on the estate. Relief was unfortunately short lived as confusion soon took over inside Dean’s mind. If Cas was still here, why had he not come to see Dean? Dean had only been away for a day, and had tried so hard to let Cas know. Why would Cas not have tried as intensely?

As he observed Cas approaching the Lady Anna and kneeling beside her writing desk, another, more important question came to Dean: what was Cas doing in her room at this time of night?

He could feel a pressure growing and growing inside of his chest, seizing his insides and attempting to crush them thoroughly. The Lady Anna had turned in her seat to face Cas, and even in the awkward angle Dean was watching he could see the wide smile she addressed Cas. Much worse, Cas was smiling back, one of the genuine smiles Dean had thought were reserved to him. Cas had leaned towards the Lady Anna, his face so close to hers that he needn’t do more than murmur his words to her. Their hands were clasped together and Dean did not know whether he would be able to go on breathing. The acute pain in his chest seemed to slowly take over the rest of his body, an ache churning in his stomach and a strain pressing behind his eyes.

Dean was still frozen, one leg on each side of the banister when the Lady left her chair to melt inside Cas’s arms, and just as he felt himself starting to fall, his limbs no longer able to support him, Cas lifted his head and met Dean’s eyes.

Then, everything happened at once. Dean heard his name shouted in Cas’s voice, and seemed to regain the control of his body as he began climbing down the vine, missing one in two grips and finishing his journey by quite literally tumbling down on the ground.

His mind refused to process what he had seen pass between Cas and the Lady Anna, and all he could focus on was that he had been seen and that he needed to get back to the stables as quickly as his legs could carry him.

He felt like his eyes could not see and his ears could not hear, only his body moving forward, foolishly stumbling on as his senses failed him. He knew where he was but could not recognise his surroundings, the memory of Cas and the Lady Anna polluting his whole being.

He was suddenly stopped in his tracks, convinced that he had crashed into something and fallen down. This was however not what had occurred. There was a hand clasping his elbow and a raspy, out of breath voice repeating his name. A ray of light coming from the moon made two blue eyes shine, piercing the darkness.

“Dean, are you all right? Dean! It’s me, Castiel!”

Dean definitely was not well. First Cas was romancing the Lady Anna, perhaps he was even proposing for all Dean knew, and now he had chased after Dean, at best to tell him once and for all that there had never been anything between them, at worst to dismiss him and make him leave the estate at once.

Dean could hear it in his head already, Alicia, Kate and Tracy discussing it around breakfast.

_Did you know that the Lady Anna was about to get married?—Oh yes, Dean Winchester almost ruined it all. Picture yourself what happened: he fell in love with her paramour!—How silly!—Thankfully, he was sacked just in time for them to be able to elope._

“Dean,” Cas’s voice said once more, his voice as soft as in Dean’s daydreams. How cruel to use Dean’s silly little fantasies against him.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said, trying to look everywhere but in Cas’s eyes and realising only belatedly that he did not know whether he was still allowed to use this nickname. “I won’t ruin your marriage with the Lady Anna, I promise!” He was only peripherally aware of how unhinged he must sound, but he did not know what else to say. Telling Cas about his feelings and how seeing him with her had killed a part of his soul hardly seemed appropriate.

“Dean,” Cas said again, and why should his name sound so soothing on Cas’s lips? Perhaps Dean had died climbing down from that balcony and hell was made of Cas touching him without Dean being able to touch him back. “You misunderstood. I am not to be married with Anna!” Or perhaps it was a dream, one where Cas said everything Dean wanted to hear, and waking up would only be more painful. “She is my sister.”

For the second time that night, the world seemed to stop on its axis, turning Dean’s brains inside out. If the Lady Anna was Cas’s sister, either the Viscount had a secret brother that even the fiercest of gossipers had not been able to uncover, or—

“My full name is James Novak, Viscount Milton and Baron Pontiac.”

Dean did not know what to _think_ , let alone what to answer to that. Since the first day Dean had been on the estate, the Viscount had always been a figure shrouded in mystery. No one ever knew whether he was at the estate or not and none of the servants had ever seen his face. Given the fact that Cas had been away on the front, this did suddenly make much sense. In the same way, none of what Charlie had told him was a lie. Cas could hardly be one of the Viscount’s guest, as he was the Viscount himself.

Cas was the Viscount, a Viscount who was looking at Dean with the supplication usually reserved to the faithful looking at their god.

“Where were you?” Dean asked, because it was the only thing that came to his mind, and because he still wanted to know so badly.

“Well, I was at war. It was—as the Lord and only heir of the estate, I was not supposed to go—but I did, and after that, I was mostly in my quarters, I could not face—”

“No,” Dean interrupted. It was Cas this time who misunderstood. “Where were you these last few days? I waited for you.” Dean’s voice had cracked on this last sentence, but he could not gather the wherewithal to be ashamed. Cas had run after him through the night, he must have an inkling about Dean’s feelings, must he not?

“I, er—” In the dark of the night Dean could not be sure, but it did feel like Cas was blushing. “My mother, the Lady Naomi, when I came back that night after our afternoon together, she caught me on my way back, and she was... she thought I had left the same way I had the day I went to war. She was displeased to say the least. I was not able to leave her side that day, so I sent my valet to find you but you were not there. I sent him again the next day, and he saw you...” Cas marked a pause again, and there was no way to mistake his blush this time. “He saw you in a tender embrace with a red-headed woman. I thought perhaps you did not feel the same way I did after all...”

Dean remembered the young valet who had interrupted his conversation with Charlie the other morning, and now that the same had happened to him, he could understand how seeing each other so close to a red-headed woman could easily being misconstrued.

“I _do_ feel—” Dean started to say, not sure if he dared finish his sentence. “I wrote you a note,” was what he finally settled on.

He took the crumpled out of his pocket and held it out to Cas, but it did not seem to matter that much after all. The time for words—spoken or written—was over. Cas leaned towards Dean as Dean leaned towards Cas; their hands and their lips found each other again, and it felt at once as if they had been away from one another for centuries yet had never parted.

The warmth in his heart gave him the sensation that they could stay like this forever and nothing bad would ever happen. He gripped Cas’s arm, his waist, his chest, and tried to hold on forever.

Alas, Dean finding Cas again was not sufficient for the world to stop turning around them and soon—much too soon—there was a faint voice behind them, a call of “my Lord” interrupting them. They were not alone anymore. Dean tried to jump away, wary of their embrace being discovered, but Cas kept his hold on Dean, the muscles in his arms even tightening around him.

Cas’s lips regretfully left Dean’s as he turned his head in the direction from which the voice was coming. “What are you doing up, Jack? I am not in need of your services at the moment.”

“It is the Lady Anna, my Lord, you left so abruptly, she is worried something might have happened to you.”

“Tell her that I have never been better, and go back to sleep, Jack. I will see you on the morrow.”

Dean just had the time to hear Jack’s steps retreating back towards the house before Cas’s lips were on him again, and there was no time to think anymore.

Dean did not know how long they spent like this, kissing and touching, and basking in the joy that all of their misconceptions had been dissipated, but by the time Dean fell asleep that night he felt as though everything had happened in reverse. After all, dreams were not supposed to take place when one was wide awake.

~

The next few days might have been the most wonderful of Dean’s life. They had to be too good to be true though, because Dean did not believe in a world where a simple groom like him deserved to be loved by someone like Cas, deserved a Viscount to visit him in the stables every evening and to listen to whatever Dean had to say and treat it like it was in any ways _important_. Still, Castiel did all of these things and loved him for it. He had never even imagined he could love anyone the way he loved Cas, and he could not fathom being loved back in the same way, despite all the sweet nothings Cas murmured against his skin in the darkness of the night.

Things were manifestly too wonderful for Dean, and he could not help but wait for them to deteriorate as soon as Cas remembered that he was the _Viscount_ and that Dean was a _stable boy_. Surely Cas was expected at some point to marry a well-born heiress who would strengthen the future of the estate and of his family name. There was no way their affair could last forever. Dean only wished he would not also lose his position the day it ended.

However, days passed one after the other with no dark cloud marring the bright blue sky of their idyll and Dean started to forget about his apprehensions. He even started to daydream again about them leaving together and finding their own little corner of paradise. Although now that Dean knew that Cas in effect owned all of the estate, this fantasy tasted somewhat different on the back of Dean’s tongue.

Cas’s valet—Jack, as well as Charlie were the only ones who knew the truth about Dean and Cas’s relationship. Dean thought that Bobby might suspect too, as hiding from him events happening in his stables was quite difficult, and Cas had mentioned that the Lady Anna had been quite suspicious of the explanation he had giving her for his abrupt departure the night of their reunion. He had also told Dean not to worry about it, but it was a rather difficult advice to follow. The Lady Naomi’s wrath was notorious all through the county and there were many people who would not hesitate selling information to her in exchange of the favours she could grant.

Whether their downfall would come from them being found out or from Cas’s marriage expectations, it would come one day and Dean had to be careful enough not to forget it.

Unfortunately, every kiss they exchanged, every sweet word from Cas, every bout of laughter Dean extracted out of him made Dean less and less careful.

It was a few days after Dean had stopped worrying for the future and decided to concentrate on the joy of the present that what he had stopped dreading happened.

It was breakfast and Ellen was too busy at her ovens to shush their most obtrusive gossip, so some of the girls seized the occasion to tackle their favourite subject.

“Chrissy has told me several of the house servants have seen the Viscount in the last few days!” Tracey said, almost as excited by these news as if she had been offered her own estate to run. “Can you believe it? No sign of him for so long, and now…”

Dean hoped no one had noticed his hand freezing around the piece of cheese he was bringing up to his mouth. Was it possible for him to slip away without anyone finding it suspicious? Or perhaps, if he and Cas had been discovered, it was better that he knew it for certain. He did not want to hear any of it, but now that he knew who the Viscount was, all of the tales about his family that were told around this table took a new dimension he was not comfortable with.

“How is he? Is he handsome?” Kate asked, with a twinkle in her eye that made Dean shift in his chair.

“According to Benny, all the ladies seem to think so!” Andrea quipped with glee, knowing very well that the news that the Viscount had had a use of the footman was more newsworthy of itself than the Viscount’s appearance.

“Oh! Has he been outside of the property? Where could he have travelled to? What could possibly have happened for him to change his behaviour so?” Even Donna, who usually was the voice of reason in their chitchat, seemed particularly keen to know everything about the Viscount’s whereabouts.

Dean could feel his face heat up and, as discreetly as he could, made certain that the small horse-shaped pendant Cas had bought in town and gifted him on the preceding evening was well hidden beneath his shirt.

“I only hope that his reappearance means he will also take his responsibility towards the Lady Amelia and the little Claire. They are his wife and child after all,” Madison said, harsh and cold.

Or perhaps was it not Madison’s tone that was so severe, but the fist that was suddenly crushing the insides of Dean’s chest. The few instances of the Viscount’s wife and child being mentioned came back to him at once. How could he have forgotten their existence? They were one of Madison’s favourite subject after all. As long as the Viscount had stayed a mystery, he had never reflected on them much; they had just been another facet of the many rumours being discussed around this table, yet he could not ignore them anymore.

Dean tried to open his mouth to ask Madison about the Viscount’s wife and child. Who were they? Dean’s mind was not the clearest at the moment, but he did not think he’d ever heard their names before. Certainly never of the Lady Amelia at all. Did they even live on the estate? Had Dean ever prepared horses for them? Had he seen them and smiled at them without knowing they were not simply the Lady Anna’s friends or the Lady Naomi’s acquaintances? Was Claire one of the children who sometimes came to the stable and hoo-ed and haa-ed at the horses? Why would Cas abandon his family?

But most of all: why would Cas not tell Dean about them?

Dean thought back of seeing Cas in the Lady Anna’s arms and almost dying of a broken heart. He mostly thought back of speaking with Cas and erasing all misunderstandings with a few words. If he had done it once, there was no doubt he would be able to do it again.

Madison was most certainly mistaken. All Dean had to do was talk to Cas about it that evening. Cas would have the most reasonable explanation, and things would all go back to normal.

Dean shut out everything else that was said around him and let out a deep breath before getting up and going back to his duties.

He tried to spend the day reminding himself of these wise words, but there was no way to silence the little voice in his head repeating again and again that Cas was a _Viscount_. Of course he was married, of course he would have an heir. Perhaps he already having those was the reason he even took an interest in Dean in the first place. It made more sense than an unmarried lord choosing a servant over the future of his estate after all. It was not as though he could ever marry _Dean_.

And perhaps it was better this way: if Cas was already married, there was no chance that the Lady Naomi would ask of him to find a match and that Cas would fall in love with the beautiful heiress that would have been chosen. With him already being married, it simply meant that there were a few people more from whom Dean would have to stay a secret. It was not as though their relationship would ever have been able to become overt in any case.

All Dean could hope was that Cas would not choose his family over him. Yet Dean could not fault him if he did.

Dean spent most of the day with these dark thoughts swimming in his head, and the closer came the time of Cas’s visit, the less Dean desired to broach the subject with him at all. A Viscount did not owe anything to a groom, whatever feelings they shared. Cas had the right to keep his wife and daughter secret from Dean just like he certainly kept Dean secret from his family. The fact that Dean’s heart ached every time he thought about it was his own problem.

There was also a little girl always intruding on Dean’s thoughts, a faceless child named Claire and whose father neglected in favour of a dirty man who had never amounted to much in his life. Dean thought of his own parents. How they had left everything behind to be together and how it had ultimately destroyed their family. How Dean’s mother had died in an abject fire because of it, how his father had slowly replaced living by surviving because of it. How Sam had been all that was left to Dean, and still Dean had to let him go if he ever hoped of Sammy getting the future he deserved.

If their relationship was ever discovered, Cas’s family would also be destroyed. His wife’s name would be dragged through the mud and his daughter shunned from society forever. Cas himself might lose everything. And it would all be Dean’s fault. Could Dean really stand by and watch it happen?

By the time Cas appeared, as the sun was setting, Dean had made his decision. He could feel his chest burn from it, but he knew he never had any other choice. The world was made this way, and who was Dean to deny his place in it?

He let Cas take him in his arms because Dean might not deserve it, but he was selfish. He wanted it at least one more time. He tried to memorise the softness of Cas’s lips, the exact colour of his eyes, the smell of his hair, the sound of his heart beating against his. He mustered all his strength in these small tasks, hoping that if he concentrated hard enough, he could make this moment last forever.

“Dean,” Cas said, with the same inflexion he always gave the word—awe, admiration and absolute devotion. Dean felt his heart swell before deflating at once. He did not deserve any of this.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean answered, but he could not make his voice sound the same it usually did.

Cas noticed it at once. “Is there something wrong, Dean? Did something happen?”

Before Cas had time to fret too much, Dean blurted out the only thing that came to mind, even though it would mean the end, “I’ve learnt today of the Lady Amelia and of young Claire.”

Dean’s hope that it had all been another misunderstanding and that Madison had been entirely wrong was dashed by the expression that came to Cas’s face as he heard these words. His mouth opened, yet no word came from it. The silence that came between them was tense and impenetrable even as their arms were still around each other.

“How did you—I… Of course.” Cas was obviously taken aback, yet this emotion was rapidly replaced by resignation. His arms fell back along his body, and his eyes looked down, his brows furrowed with something akin to pain. All Dean wanted to do was to console him, but he knew he should not. “What I did… Amelia and Claire, they deserved so much more, and I—” He glanced up back at Dean but could not hold his gaze. Dean felt desperation invade him at the idea that Cas would perhaps never lay his eyes on him again. “I left with no regard for them whatsoever. I went to a war that did not need me and left behind people who did. There is no greater shame than the one I feel about the way I treated them. Whatever I do, there is no doubt that I will never be able to redeem myself.”

There was a lump in Dean’s throat and he did not know how many words he could say before it closed up completely. _Of course you will_ , he wanted to say. Or perhaps, _the shame you feel for things you have done could never equal the one I possess of who I am_. He was however not able to say anything more than, “You should go to them. I—I am letting you go.”

For a moment, Dean worried that his meaning would not be clear enough, but he could tell at once that Cas had understood him perfectly by the sudden anguish on his face.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas pleaded, yet Dean knew he would accept his decision. There was no point; they had no future.

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean said, managing to repress a sob. “But we do not belong together.”

~

Dean did not sleep that night. Or if he did, he only dreamt of that last image of Cas walking away and of the absolute emptiness that filled Dean each time he relived it.

The emptiness did not leave him with the sun rising and stayed within all through his duties of the day. He had left breakfast just as Charlie had come in, the notion of having to talk about the preceding evening turning his stomach. There was a part of him that just wanted to erase everything that had happened ever since his first meeting with Cas. There was also another, much bigger and much more selfish part of him that just wanted to run back to him.

However, none of these things could be done, and all Dean did was tend to the horses, trying to occupy his mind as much as he could whilst never truly succeeding at getting Cas out of his thoughts.

Only a few days had passed this way when Dean found someone waiting for him beside his pallet, the setting sun making them nothing more than a silhouette. For a short, impossible moment, Dean persuaded himself that it had to be Cas, but it did not last long enough for elation to take roots in his heart. Neither the height nor the breadth of shoulders were the right ones and Dean only had to take one step inside the harness room for all of Bobby’s features to become clearer.

“Hello, boy,” Bobby said, the gruffness in his tone somewhat softer than usual.

Dean tried to think of a reason the coachman would be here—a horse to wrangle back, another to brush up—but could not think of any. Apart from the coach that had apparently been prepared and ridden away whilst Dean was retrieving water from the well, everything was as calm as ever in the stables. For that matter, what Bobby came to Dean for must be quite important for him to have made Garth drive the coach in his stead.

“Is something wrong, Bobby?” Dean asked, his voice raspy to his ears. As he said it, he realised he had not spoken aloud since he had last talked to Cas.

“Yes, there is!” Bobby answered. Dean could tell the old man was quite incensed by his own lack of reaction, yet the hollowness in his chest kept him from caring much at all. “ _You_ are wrong! Something very obviously happened, and I would stake this whole stable that it has something to do with a certain Lord Milton.”

Dean felt his heart skip a beat at these words. “How do you know? _What_ do you know?” He could not help the panic from slipping into his voice, yet Bobby’s hand grabbing his shoulder felt surprisingly much more soothing than he would have expected.

“There is not much I know, boy, but do not expect me to believe that the Viscount visited these stables so frequently for the pleasure of observing beasts he is deathly afraid of.” Dean did not know what _not much_ meant to Bobby, but his disbelief must have been rather manifest on his face, for Bobby quickly amended, “Well I might know more than that too. For one, I know that there was not a night for several weeks in a row when I did not see him slip in our out of this room. And then, all of a sudden, despondency seems to have taken over you, and this only a few days before the Viscount is so in a hurry to leave with his coach that he does not even wait for my monthly meeting with the steward to be over.”

Many questions battled inside Dean: Did this mean that Bobby would not denounce Dean and Cas? Had Cas really been here in the stables only a few hours ago? Why would Cas be in such a hurry? However, only one question did manage to get out, “Is he…is Cas gone forever?”

Bobby seemed at first taken aback that Dean would call the Viscount by such a nickname, but seemed to take it in stride. “I do not know, boy. Everyone thought he had left for good the first time, and still he came back. Not in as good a shape as his mother or sister would have wished, but he did come back. There is no way to know if he will be able to again.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked before the horror of what Bobby had just said dawned on him. “Is he going back to the war?”

How could he? His fear of horses would without a doubt spell his immediate downfall as soon as he arrived on the front. Why would he choose death over his wife and daughter when Dean had sacrificed so much so that they could be together?

“I am afraid so, Dean.” Bobby had taken off his hat with the hand that was not on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean had the flash of a distant memory of a dark man announcing to his father the death of his wife.

“But what about the Lady Amelia? What about Claire? I…I let him go so he could do the _right_ thing, being a husband, and a father! He perhaps could not be with me but at least with them—with them, he was alive!” Dean heard his voice crack and his knees weaken. Bobby let his hat fall on the ground to bring his other hand to Dean’s shoulder, the only thing keeping him upright.

“What are you prattling about, boy? The Lady Naomi might have expected him to marry the Lady Amelia when her husband died just after Claire’s birth, but the Viscount choosing to go to war instead rather cemented the idea that he would not. Besides, the paperwork he left with Mr Worthy was clear enough to allow the both of them to be provided for for the rest of their lives.”

“ _What_? Cas is not—he’s not married? Then why would he have let me—why…I thought—I…” He knew he must not make sense to Bobby—though Bobby seemed to know so much more than he did, Dean did not believe anymore that he could be ignorant of anything. “I need to stop him, Bobby. I need to get him back! He cannot die!”

He did not let Bobby the time to answer. If Cas had been in a hurry in the afternoon, Dean did not know how far ahead he would be, how fast Dean would have to ride to catch up to him before he was on a ship headed to France. All he knew was that he would get him back if it was the last thing he did.

He was only peripherally aware of Bobby putting back his hat on as Dean was saddling Impala the fastest he had ever done it, and it was only when he was done that he realised the old man had come next to Impala and was holding out a bundle full of all of Dean’s personal belongings. “You never know what you will need with you,” he said, his eyes looking misty even in the twilight.

“Thank you, Bobby,” Dean said, his voice trembling more than he expected it to. “Will you tell Charlie…” he had not the faintest how to finish his sentence, but it did not seem to matter.

“I will, boy. I will.”

The first time Dean saw Bobby smile was also the last time he ever saw him.

~

Dean was barely out of the estate, urging Impala as fast as she could handle it, before a storm broke, bringing with it startling thunder and a violent rain that would have certainly hindered any other horses. In addition to the night now being completely fallen, the dark clouds made it almost impossible to see ahead, a few slivers of moonlight and impetuous lightning bolts the only beacons in the darkness.

It was a fact that he could not have been afflicted by a worse weather for the most important journey of his life, yet he knew that whatever the gods saw fit to throw at him, nothing would stop him from getting back to Cas. He had committed the most horrendous mistake already and he would rectify it if it was the last thing he did.

With each yard bringing Dean closer to him, all he could think about was Cas—his voice, his eyes, his lips, his absolute misery when Dean had ended their relationship. Everything that happened now to Cas would be Dean’s fault and if Dean had not been an accomplished rider, he did not know that he would have been able to hang on to Impala’s back with the monstrosity of what he had caused weighing on him. Only the racket of the storm could drown the violent beating of his heart, only the torrential rain could keep his tears from falling.

Yet as roaring as the storm was, it ultimately turned out to be a blessing, as much sooner than he would have anticipated it, Dean’s way was blocked by the presence of a familiar coach in the middle of the road. One of its wheels was stuck in a deep mud, another was manifestly broken. The coachman seat was empty and Dean could distinguish Continental tied up to a nearby tree. Garth must have left on Ranchero’s back to the nearest village in the hope of finding a replacement wheel.

Dean almost fell head-first into the mud, he was so in a hurry to get to Cas. As soon as he was back on his feet, he rushed to the carriage’s door and pulled it open.

“Garth, did you…” Cas trailed off, obviously not expecting to see Dean before him.

Dean did not wait for him come out of his stupor; he jumped inside, took his face in his hands and kissed him. His mere presence was absolutely flooding the carriage with water, the fabric of the seats utterly drenched and the open door behind him letting torrents of rain inside, yet Dean did not find one ounce of energy to care, for Cas was kissing him back. Cas did not seem to mind the rain either as soon his hands were everywhere on Dean trying to find purchase, gripping as tightly as he could once he did. Dean would have told him that there was no need—that he would never leave him again—had his mouth not been otherwise occupied.

After too short a time, they did finally separate as they needed to catch their breath, and despite the darkness, Dean could feel himself drowning in the blue of Cas’s eyes. Why would Dean ever have renounced this? Pure joy invaded his chest at the notion that he would no longer have to.

“You are not married,” he said, feeling despite the urgency of his want to kiss Cas again that he had to explain his presence here.

“Of course not!” Cas answered at once, his voice higher than Dean had ever heard it. “Who did you—”

“The Lady Amelia, and Claire—I thought…I thought they were your wife and daughter, I thought—But they were not! And still you let met send you away…” Dean said, desperate and feeling so foolish that there was not more to say, nothing more substantial to justify how he had almost destroyed everything.

“I am unwed, although I am a Viscount and Amelia’s husband was my cousin. It was readily impressed upon me that my duty was to marry her and to take care of her child—as my mother had understood quite well that there was little chance of me providing an heir. She had planned a marriage between Amelia and me when I fled to war. I was born the most fortunate and still I forsook all my responsibilities, whereas _you_ —you lost so much and still you take care of so many…You took care of me yet I did not deserve it for one second…”

It was a true shock to Dean’s ears that Cas would ever believe such things about himself. Did he not know that he was worth a hundred of his peers? Dean was a servant, a groom, a stable boy…but he was starting to understand that it needed not be all that he was.

“You deserve the world, Cas,” he said, hoping Cas would know it to be true. “I am so happy you are not married.”

“I thought not marrying Amelia was to be the greatest shame of my life, but I too am glad I did not, now that I know it was what brought back to me,” Cas said, his left hand tightening on Dean’s hip, making sure that they were as close as they could ever be. “I thought…I really thought it was over. I made all the necessary arrangements for Anna to be able to marry the one she chose, for them to take care of the estate, for Amelia and Claire to be provided for… I—I really thought it was over.”

“I promise you it is not, I promise you it will never be,” Dean said, giddy with the idea of a future together. “Please do not go back to war,” he added, only to make sure.

“I will not, of course not. I will never again go somewhere you cannot come with me,” Cas promised, bringing their foreheads together.

Dean’s eyes closed. He breathed in everything that was Cas, feeling like if he did it deeply enough, their beings would literally mesh together.

“I do have an idea of where we could go together, if you are willing,” Dean said, losing himself in the sensation of their cheeks brushing against each other.

“I have never been more willing,” Cas whispered right next to Dean’s ear.

“I—perhaps we could make a future for ourselves in the Americas,” Dean hesitated. The thought of treading in his parent’s footsteps scared him, but the notion of Cas being with him soothed all his fears at once. If Cas had been able to ride a horse again, there was no reason Dean could not go back to the land of his birth. “The journey is long and tedious, but nobody knows James Novak, Viscount Milton and Baron Pontiac over there. No one knows Dean Winchester either. We could make a home there, and when Sammy is finished with his studies, he could come back and live with us. We could be a family.”

Cas looked at him the way only he ever did and with a softness seemingly impossible for a man of his stature said, his voice solemn, “I have never dreamed of anything more than that,” and kissed Dean again. From the language formed of their mouths meeting each other, Dean knew in his bones that everything would be all right.

When they were in each other’s arms, Cas was not a Viscount and Dean was not a stable boy. Their past was forgiven and their future bright, with no one to expect anything else from them.

They were just _Dean_ and _Cas_ , and they belonged together.

_~the end~_


End file.
